Sing Me to Sleep
by Alitote
Summary: When the pressures of fame become to much, where is a Beatle to turn? *!Chapter 5 updated/fixed! Sorry 'bout that guys!*
1. Chapter 1

"Ringo!" George called as he walked through the hotel suite, his scouse accent drawing out the end of the drummer's name, "Ringo where are yeah?"

He finally found him in the living room with John and Paul. Wondering why he hadn't checked here first, George leaned over the couch Ringo was sitting on and tapped him on the shoulder. Ringo looked at him lazily, touring having drained alot of life from him.

"Yeah?" He asked.

"Just wonderin' if you were up for a card game." George shrugged. Ringo sighed and shook his head.

"All I want it to take a nap Joj." He said, laying down and folding his ringed hands over his stomach.

"Oh, well allright then." George said evenly, not looking in the drummer's direction. He righted himself and lazily strode around to sit in the last empty chair in the room. Paul briefly looked up from his place beside John where they were wrighting a song to acknowledge George's presence. Then he looked back down, burying himself in his work alongside John.

George sighed, he'd hoped maybe Ringo would have played with him. Paul and John were always to busy writing. Which was something George wanted to do but they never wanted to let him in. And only John would sometimes help him when he tried writing on his own, he could tell neither wanted to but he did it because that's what a "nice older brother" would do.

And now Ringo didn't want to play with George, leaving him to his thoughts.

Which was a place George really didn't want to be. The months and years of touring and recording whatever John and Paul wanted and just general lack of privacy were begining to take a toll on the guitarist. He felt like a machine, there to smile for photographers and spout, in his opinion, nonsense that only teenage girls would want to read about and play whatever John and Paul wanted him to. The thoughts would nag at him, reminding him that he was easily replacable all the time. Dredging up memories of mistakes he made in practice that day or recent scares the press and fans had given him.

In a word, George Harrison was depressed. He didn't really know what had brought it on, he didn't really know how to make them go away. They could only really be ignored when George was doing something else.

Like playing cards with Ringo.

George cast another hopefull glance that soured when he realised Ringo was fully asleep. The thoughts dancing in his head laughed at him for being so needy and that barred George from trying to get Paul or John's attention. Instead he stood and walked towards the bedroom he was sharing with Paul. Maybe he could take a nap too?

Paul watched George walk out off, waiting for him to close the door before nudging John in the leg.

"What?" He asked, not looking away from a sheet of lyrics he was editing. It just didn't sound right to him...

"You think George is okay?" Paul asked softly, for a moment fearing George overhearing him.

"He seems okay," John shrugged, still not looking at Paul.

"John." Paul groaned.

"What Macca? I can't watch him all the time! He's a big boy, he can handle himself!" John snapped, finally looking at Macca through his thick frammed glasses. Paul merely scowled and returned to his bass before muttering,

"He just seemed a little down."

"Well his playing was crap in rehearsal this morning so he's probably just upset over that."

"But it's been hours. And he was fine towards the end." Paul argued, "I dunno, just a feeling I guess, just something didn't seem right when he was sitting there."

"He's fine Paul, now help me write this last verse and we can be done for today." John said firmly.

* * *

**2 Days Later**

George starred at his forkfull of pasta before taking a tentative bite. Hunger had left him in the last week, only ever reappearing hours later in the middle of the night right when George would wake up. But then it would die off just as quickly and he'd fall back to sleep, sometimes dreaming sometimes not. He never really seemed to remember what he dreamed so he couldn't tell if they were good or bad.

He watched the others eat, John devouring the food like he hadn't eaten in weeks and Paul eating properly, like his mother had taught him to. Ringo was taking a slow drink of his Coke and George briefly accidentally made eye contact with him. Ringo set the glass down and looked over at him.

"You okay?"

"What? Yeah." George said, looking at Ringo like he was crazy.

"Well it's just, you've barely eaten. All day."

"So?" George shrugged.

"That's weird for you."

By now Paul and John were silently watching the exchange and when George rolled his eyes John piped up, " 'e's right you know."

"Will everyone just get off my back? I'm not hungry today okay!" George snapped, getting up and muttering, "I'm going to bed." From there he stomped from the room, slamming the door.

Ringo made to go after him but was stopped by Paul.

"Just give him a few minutes, it'll be easier to talk to him then." Paul said, "In fact maybe I should talk to him."

"Ooh, big brother Paulie goes to save the day." John smirked, rolling his eyes. Paul sighed exasperated at the rythm guitarist before finishing his own dinner and standing up.

"I'm gonna go talk to him. Do not disturb us." He instructed, to which Ringo and John both rolled their eyes.

The room George and Paul were sharing was dark, the moonlight seeping in through the drawn blinds and casting a striped shadow over George's bed, where a George sized lump was hiding under the covers.

"George?" Paul called gently, closing the door behind himself. George barely moved and Paul thought he heard a sniffle. Paul walked slowly to George's bedside and sat down on the side George was facing away from.

Then, without warnng, Paul sighed loudly and flopped back against George's legs.

"Paul!" George cried angrily, sitting up and looking down at the bassist, annoyed.

Paul grinned up at him and said, "Now that I have your attention..."

"What do you want?" George grumbled, laying back down as Paul sat up.

Paul paused, trying to phrase the question in a way that wouldn't put up George's defenses.

"Just wondering what life is like for George Harrison right now." Paul shrugged, "We never talk anymore."

"Well," George said after a few seconds, "You're always busy... writing with John."

"Are you jealous of John?"

"No!" George said quickly, "Just... it doesn't allow for alot of time together like before right?" George wasn't looking at Paul, instead he watched the wallpaper across the room.

Paul nodded slowly, inching closer to George's head.

"So... you do miss me then?" Paul asked.

"Sure?" George shrugged.

"'cause I'm right here Joj, just so you know."

George's voice was getting small, "I do..."

Paul nodded slowly again, trying to think of something else to say. Then he craned his neck to see George's face.

It was empty, void of any light from within. The thin face and high cheekbones had a dark feel to them, like there was something pushing to break free from George's being. Like he was hiding something.

"Joj... I can tell when something's bothering you."

George mentally smirked, could he now? Then what the hell took him so long to say anything? George cast a dry glance at the bassist and said emotionlessly, "Is that right?"

"Well... yeah." Paul shrugged, "So what's bothering you?"

"Paul-"

"And don't go saying there isn't because there must be." Paul said, "You wouldn't give up three meal's in a row if there wasn't."

"I didn't-"

"Not eating the whole meal is giving it up Harrison, so talk." Paul said, leaning over George's thin body to stare at him square in the eyes.

George sighed, feeling the deep cavity in his chest grow with the emptiness that had been filling him for weeks now. Did he really have to talk to Paul? He probably wouldn't understand... and maybe he'd get bored with listening to George's problems... George wouldn't be surprised if he did. He was growing pretty tired with himself personally.

"It's nothing Paul. Really." George said, offering a weak smile as an excuse. A weak excuse. Truthfully George wanted to spill everything to the guy who had acted like a big brother to him since he'd met him. He wanted Paul to hold him, to make the emptiness go away.

But he knew Paul probably wouldn't, so he kept quiet.

Paul rolled his eyes, sighing tiredly, "Georgie," He sidled up closer to George, "I can also tell when you're lying."

George seemed to shrink into himself, looking at the sheets.

"Come on Joj-ie, just out with it. You'll probably feel better." Paul was starting to worry, how serious was George's problem? Had he done something? Was he scared of getting in trouble?

"Umm... Well..." George rubbed the corner of his blanket inbetween his fingers as he talked, "Have you ever just... felt sad?"

Paul furrowed his brow, shaking his head slowly, "Not really... maybe a little after my mom died... but not recently."

"Oh... well..." George shrugged, "I meant... not with any real reason. Just, not happy."

"For absolutely no reason?" Paul asked.

"Yeah."

"George are you not happy?"

George cast a dry look at Paul who let his head fall to the side in a questioning manner. George sighed and sat up, staring at his hands.

"I dunno... just... it's hard to enjoy being always on camera and asked stupid questions and messing up all the time in rehearsal." George said queitly.

Paul smiled, feeling slightly relieved but then feeling quilty over the relief. George hadn't done anything to get him into trouble, but he wasn't happy either.

Unsure of how to handle this, Paul moved to sit right next to George on the bed and threw an arm over his shoulder.

"Well you know what I enjoy?" Paul asked gently, "Hanging out with my little brother and my best friends."

George rolled his eyes, "I'm not that much younger than you."

"You're still younger period." Paul said, "Look Joj, it's allright ok? I promise."

George remained silent, looking towards the window and away from Paul, "I'm not so sure Paul." The gnawing emptiness in his chest was begining to ache. Paul's smile slipped from his face but he didn't move from his position.

"You don't have to be happy all the time Joj." He said quietly, "It's allright to not be happy every once in awhile."

George was quiet, thinking. He wanted Paul to stay there as the thoughts of George being useless and less important threatened to consume him. They were pushing their way up his chest, threatening to break his ribs and shatter his lungs. He wanted it all to go away but that didn't even seem possible.

His lower jaw quivered and Paul felt George's muscles tighten under his arm as his breathing became a little heavier.

"George..." Paul pulled George closer and the guitarist didn't fight. Although everything inside him screamed this was wrong; stupid, maybe even childish. Had to be held like a crying child who just woke from a nightmare? How pathetic. The pain in his chest constricted around his lungs and heart even tighter and George felt something slide down his cheek.

Seeing the tear, Paul wrapped the other arm around George and moved closer so he could get in a more comfortable position.

"I'm sorry." He whispered into George's hair, laying his head against the guitarist's.

George didn't say anything, but he did wonder, how was it Paul's fault George was so useless? Sure he got George in the band... but not much else.

Feeling childish and very uncool, George pulled away, laying back down on the pillow and drying his eyes, this proving to be a fruitless task as the tears apparantly weren't done.

Paul sighed, rubbing his shoulder before reaching into George's bag and pulling out a bottle. He quickly walked to the small bathroom in their bedroom and grabbed the glass by the tap, filling it with water. He shook two pills from the bottle and walked over to George.

"Here." He said, holding everything out to George. George took the pills and gulped down the water quickly.

After returning the glass to it's place beside the tap Paul sat down next to George again, rubbing his shoulder in an attempt to be comforting.

"Any better?" Paul asked, to which he got a drowsy shrug from George.

"Well, just go to sleep then. I'll be here in the morning." Paul said as George's vision faded into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

For the first few days after Paul's talk with George, George seemed to notice him glancing his way a little more often. The talk really did nothing to help George, in fact it mostly embarressed him that he had to reveal personal feelings to someone that, he felt, didn't really care. He avoided looking at Paul most of the time, prefering to engage Ringo in some sort of conversation or antic instead. Only during dinner or when all four happened to sit down late at night after all the reporters and hustlers had departed for the night did he ever really talk to Paul, and that was only when the conversation all four of them participated in called for it.

Although George more listened than spoke, Paul being the one to invite him into the conversation every once in awhile when he remembered their private conversation a few nights ago.

All the while George seemed to be tumbling farther into his depression, a black hole opening up in the middle of his chest and clawing at the edges where the rest of George's chest was. Sometimes it made it feel harder to breathe, sometimes it just felt like a giant weight pressing down on him and he honsetly had to wonder how he got any talking or singing done.

His appetite had slowly begun to decrease as well, he was no longer sneaking off to snatch a treat from somewhere inbetween rehearsals or interviews. He instead seemed to be staring off into space as the others romantacized the nearby female assistants and lucky passers-by. He wasn't hungry in any sense of the word, for food, for love, for anything.

This didn't go unnoticed by the others, but with a tour pressing down on everybody it was hard to find the time to drag George away for a few private five minutes alone. And a new habit of George's was to race off to bed after dinner, sometimes right in the middle, and down some sleeping pills before passing out on his bed.

Terrified he might do something on accident, Paul always followed him, making sure he had the correct amount in his palm before he watched George throw them in his mouth. It seemed to placate his concious some, knowing he really should say something to George who always avoided most interaction with him.

"Are you embaressed?" He finally asked before George took the sleeping pills one night.

George looked up at Paul before muttering, "What?" and swallowing the drugs.

"Are you embaressed? By our little conversation last week." Paul said a little louder.

"Oh... nah..." George shrugged sleepily. He hadn't even bothered to change, still in the suit and tie from that day. For a moment, Paul feared this wasn't the first day he'd worn that exact outfit.

"Are you sure?" Paul asked as George's eyes slipped closed and he wobbled a little where he sat on the edge of the bed.

George nodded lethargically, laying down and making slow movements to pull the blanket over himself. In seconds he was unconcious.

Paul sighed, walking back to the table and sitting down. John and Ringo were just finishing their dinner, talking to eachother animatedly, but silenced themselves when Paul sat down.

"Well, how was your lovely little field trip?" John asked. Paul merely glared at him and said nothing.

"Paul, George can put himself to bed you know." Ringo said.

"I know Ringo." Paul said evenly, wondering if he should tell them about George's problem. He was worried George would find it a betrayal, although he had a feeling they would figure it out eventually, if George didn't O.D. on sleeping pills first.

"Then why do you follow him every night?" Ringo continued.

Paul shrugged, unsure still whether to say anything.

"Well give the kid some space. Maybe that's why he's so edgy all the time: because Big Brother Paul has his mits all over him." John said.

Paul rolled his eyes and tossed his roll at John's head.

"George what do you think the Beatles next album will be?"

"Don't know, we haven't gotten to the next album yet."

A chorus of laughter and the reporters turned to Ringo like he was a piece of meat.

"What do you think you can expect on the latest stop in your tour?"

"Singing." Ringo shrugged.

Everyone smirked and the questions continued on.

George kept looking wistfully at the door. If these men and women where supposed to notice everything about the Beatles, why couldn't they see he wanted to leave? But no! On and on they went, asking questions that were identical to the last time the Beatles had held a press conference, and the time before that, and the time before that. There was literally nothing new about this press conference, even the faces of the press were begining to blur together with the faces of the last batch of reporters.

"Everything allright George?"

That snapped George out of his thoughts.

"Yes?" He said cautiously, "Tip top."

"Then why don't you seem to be engaged in the questions?" The sleazy looking reporter smirked.

"I'm answerin' them aren't I?" George snapped, "That's engaged to my understanding."

"Speaking of engaged, do you plan on finding the right girl and settling down?"

George blinked at the one-eighty and paused, which was all the reporter needed.

"Do you see many girls on your tours? Come to think of it, don't you see many girls so is there a wide selection?"

"Oi! One at a time if you please," John said, coming to the rescue while George blushed despite himself, "Here's a question for you lot, which of you plans to have this story out first?"

The resulting clamboring to declare their newspaper was the quickest sent the reporters into a new frenzy, the sleazy looking reporter forgotten in seconds.

John looked over to Brian and shot him a pleading look, lower lip wobbling innocently. Brian rolled his eyes and strode out to stand inbetween the boys and the press.

"I'm sorry but that's all the time we have for today." He announced, somehow managing to be louder than the tons of journalists and photographers combined, "The boys need to get on with their schedule."

The reporters cried out in disagreement, but the boys were already gone, George walking the fastest to get off the stage and to the car. Paul followed after him, wanting to say something, but unsure of how he would be recieved, and John and Ringo bringing up the rear to laugh over their personal highlights of the interviews.

"That one woman, did you see her?" Ringo laughed, "Her hair looked ridiculous!"

"Like a beehive underwater!" John agreed.

"Joj?" Paul called gently, not getting a reply from George.

"Is he miffed about that one reporter?" John questioned, grinning, "It's nothing to be miffed over you know."

"John leave him alone." Paul groaned, glowering.

"Why? If he's gonna act like a teenage bird then he'll be treated like one." John said.

"John... Don't." Ringo said, realising George might not take John's jokes very well today, "He's probably not going to laugh along."

"Then that's his problem." John shrugged, "Eh Georgie! Where's you're skirt? Come on!"

George just growled and walked ahead, climbing into the car and slamming the door behind him.

John growled, "So that's how he's gonna act? Well-"

"John leave him alone!" Paul shouted, surprising the two other Beatles.

Ringo's eyebrows pulled together, watching the youngest member with concern while a dark look crossed John's face.

"He's been actin' weird for a while now. Personally, I'm gettin' pretty sick of it."

"Well don't antagonise him!" Paul snarled.

"I'm not gonna walk on eggshells for the kid Paul! I told you when you dragged him infront of me on that bus: no kids! And that still stands." John shouted.

Unnoticed by the other two, Ringo slipped into the car, sliding next to George, who was watching the other side of the street through his window. Outside Paul and John continued to argue, Neil, Mal, and Brian trying to break them up so they could leave as fan's slowly began to sniff them out.

Ringo bumped George's shoulder with his fist.

"Hey." He said nonchalantly.

After a while George said softly, "Hey."

"You wanna talk?"

"Not particularly." George said, seeming to shrink down in his seat a little.

"John's getting a little impatient." Ringo said gently, hoping to generate a response.

"Well how lovely for John." George said acidicly, craning his neck to look out the back window.

Just then the door snapped open and in came John and Paul, both fuming and both choosing to stare out of different windows. Brian climbed into the front seat and Mal started the car, speeding down the street before the fans could attack the car.

"So..." John said after awhile, "George-"

"Yes?" George asked, cutting him off.

John let an angry hiss of air through his nostrils before looking past Ringo to stare at the back of the guitarist's head, "When are you gonna untwist them knickers? I'd like it to be an all bloke band again if it's no trouble."

George turned to stare at John angrily, fire lighting his dark eyes like coals.

"You'll have to replace Paul to achieve _that_ Lennon." He snapped.

John glared back, locking the two in a battle of wills. And John Lennon never lost.

But as he stared at his insubordinate guitarist John saw a glimmer of something under the anger, something like pain or a bitter agony he didn't recognise seeing there before. Something that managed to send up a red flag in his anger-hazed mind.

Eventually George looked away, muttering he wasn't playing John's games anymore.

The moment they entered the hotel the Beatles and their entourage were ambushed by screaming fangirls, tenacious reporters, and shady hustlers trying to sell their merchandise.

George sprinted inside, not even waiting for the others. Only thinking he needed to escape, like a trapped animal on the run from a predator he needed to get away. To the safety of his hotel room.

But there he was the first to be accosted by more slippery reporters and hustlers.

"George Harrison!"

"Look over here Georgie!"

"Mr. Harrison-"

"Get away from me!" George screamed, slamming the door to the Beatles' suite and running to his room, locking the door behind him, sliding down the dark wood and drawing his knees up.

He wanted them all to go away, go away and leave him alone.

But they wouldn't, they never would. They would never let him breathe, never let him just have peace.

Hearing the suite door open, George snapped himself out of his pity party and stood up, unlocking the door but his hand only resting on the handle. He could hear them shuffling around out there, hear snippets of John's cracks at everything and anything as Paul and Ringo attempted to outdo him and Brian tried to shut the whole conversation down.

Paul's voice seemed to get louder, as he neared the door. George just managed to jump back in time to avoid being hit.

Paul's eyebrows raised as George appeared behind the door.

"Hi." He said after a second.

"Hey." George said back, brushing past him to sit on the couch. Ringo was already there, eating the leftovers from lunch. John had picked up his guitar and started strumming it but soon sat that down to start a conversation with Mal and Neil.

Paul appeared moments later, snatching some of Ringo's left overs for himself.

Ringo offered George something to eat too, but George shook his head.

Ringo cast him a look, which George promptly turned away from. Ringo edged closer, leaning close to whisper, "Everything allright?"

"Perfect." George said, but his tone conveyed something else, "Why would you ask?"

Ringo sighed, standing up and pulling George up by the hair.

"Ow!" He yelped, "Dangit Ritchie-"

"Come on." Ringo roughly pushed and bullied George into the bedroom, much to the amusement of John and Mal. Paul, Neil, and Brian stared after, concerned suspicion crossing their faces.

Ringo shoved George through the door and closed it behind him, locking it. Then he turned to stare at George through the darkness.

"Well?" He said rather peevishly, "We're alone, we both know you're lying, so out with it."

George stared at Ringo like he was crazy but Ringo just pushed him onto his bed, sitting down next to him.

"You're my band mate George. You're also my roommate, my best friend, and at rare times-usually when I'm very drunk or very high-you're my baby brother. Which means alot to me considering I have no real siblings." Ringo said, a small smile pulling at one corner of his mouth as he tried to soften George up.

George's hard, stoney look softened to a sad, yet slightly amused face. There was no smile, but a ghostly impression was there. The eyes were to sad to be properly happy though.

Ringo pushed George gently by the shoulder, "Come on, I promise I judged you long ago, there's nothing you can say to change my view of you."

"And what is your view of me Ritchie?"

"That you're a moody vampire that likes to eat. Now out with it, what's bothering you?" Ringo said, making George smirk, the grin breaking his face finally.

"Nothing." He said, the amusement leaving through his voice. He moved farther back on the bed, sitting Indian style with his shoes on.

"George..."

"No really Ringo, nothing that can be fixed anyway." George sighed, staring at his hands in his lap.

Ringo cocked his head to the side, turning to fully face his best friend.

"Can't hurt to talk about it then."

"I just... I'm tired of this."

"We've only been sitting here for, what, ten minutes?" Ringo quipped, making George roll his eyes and look at Ringo like he was a dumb puppy.

"I meant the whole rollercoaster we've been riding since Brian got us famous."

"Oi! Brian helped get us famous, but we put in the hours George Harrison."

"He brought you to us."

"And therefore he helped. Now come on, you're tired of girls, fame, and recognition?"

"And sleazy reporters, gigs with far to short of time apart, hustlers that come up with the stupidest crap to slap our faces on, and this idea that a man doesn't need any privacy when he's famous." George said, anger scrunching up his eyes, the empty hole in his chest seeming to lessen a little.

"Ah. That. Almost forgot about it meself." Ringo smiled, moving closer to George and turning to rest his head in George's lap, "To tell you the truth George I don't think it's an idea, it must be a life style for these people."

Something wet hit Ringo's face and he reached up to feel tears running down George's face.

"Oh George," He sighed, wiping one tear away with his thumb, "It's allright." He sat up and wrapped his arms around George's thin frame. George sniffled, feeling the black hole in his chest start to bleed all the despair and pain he'd been hiding for the last while back into the rest of him. He coughed as breathing and crying started to clash and leaned back into Ringo's embrace.

"I don't know what's... what's wrong with me..." He managed between soft sobs, "I'm sorry..."

"Nothing wrong son," Ringo whispered, "Absolutely nothing wrong. Just let it out."

George curled up around Ringo's arms, holding his face in his hands and resting against Ringo's chest. Ringo let his own head rest against George's as he rocked him back and forth slowly in an attempt to soothe the crying guitar player.

Suddenelly the door opened without warning and Paul strode in. Immeadiatly George tore away from Ringo, wiping his face quickly as he crawled to the other side of the bed.

"Oh... sorry." Paul said sheepishly as Ringo gave him a furious look, "Just had to grab... ah... you know what I'm gonna room with John tonight. We need to finish... you know... the song... right..." And as quickly as he'd come he went, driven away by Ringo's furious glare more than anything. Whatever small connection Ringo had managed to bridge through that icy shell George had constructed had toppled to ruins in the span of two seconds. George remained on the other end of the bed, battling with his pill bottle to get it open.

"'ere." Ringo said softly, taking the bottle from George's shaking fingers. He gave the lid a twist and it popped off. Ringo then shook two of the small pills into his palm and gave them to George, who swallowed them dry.

"Take your coat off then." Ringo said, and George silently did so, not looking anywhere but the covers as the pills started to blur his vision. He wavered, his body wanting to both topple over and remain erect at the same time. Ringo carefully sidled up to him and pulled George down into his lap, new tears forming in both their eyes as George blinked conciousness away, Ringo slowly running his ringed fingers through George's dark hair like Ringo's mother had done for him when he'd been distressed.

In the last moments he had George reached up with a leadend arm and grasped Ringo's hand, his grip weakening by the second as he blinked sleep into his eyes. Ringo gave a comforting squeeze and George knew no more.

When Ringo was sure he was asleep, he stood up, carefully lowering the guitar player's head to the covers below and walking over to his feet, where Ringo pulled George's boots off and tossed them carelessly to the floor. He then removed George's tie and slipped a pillow under George's head, stealing the covers from the other bed to tuck in his friend.

He then laid down next to George, taking his hand under the covers into his and laying his head on George's shoulder, closing his eyes as he tried to fight down the building panic that George was not allright, no matter how badly Ringo wanted him to be.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning George slowly opened his eyes, wondering why the cieling looked different before remembering his head was at the foot of his bed.

And how it got there.

He looked down to see Ringo asleep on his shoulder, snoring softly. George could feel his hand pressed against Ringo's, Ringo's maintaining a strong grip despite him being asleep.

George sighed, blinking the last of the sleep away from his eyes and carefully extracting his shoulder from under Ringo's head. He then carefully pulled his slim fingers from Ringo's warm strong ones. As he left the affectionate embrace, a cold shudder passed through him and he suddenelly couldn't help but feel alone.

But instead of crawling pathetically back to Ringo, George changed his clothes, pulled his boots on, and walked the bedroom door to see no one else was up either. Apparantly Brian had decided they could sleep in for once.

George felt restless, he wanted to walk out the door and wander around the city. But one look out the peephole told George that wasn't possible. People were standing outside the door, waiting for someone to open it. George felt a flash of annoyed anger, couldn't theses people take a break?

He walked across the room to the giant windows that led out onto a small balcony. The morning bustle of the city was in full swing as George watched from above, resting his head in his arms on the thick stone railing. Some people, mostly people more interested in a Beatle sighting, shouted up to him and waved. He offered a half hearted wave to the more congeneial passers by, taking a liking to ignoring the people who stopped to shout up to him and then stand there until he replied. Which George refused to do. He'd been bothered enough by annoying people.

Until one guy, looked to be a few years older than George from where the Bealte stood, began calling up to him.

"Hey! Hey you! You're one of them Beatles ain't yah?!"

"What else would I be einstein?" George muttered under his breath as he stared down at the city street.

"Answer me ya stupid git! What are you afraid of?!" The heckler continued to scream. George rolled his eyes and leaned over the ledge to wave at the guy to show he'd heard.

"Don't wave you damn priss! What the hell are you?! A fairy?!"

George growled, his eye twitching. What was wrong with this guy?

"Hey! Why don't you come down here?! I wanna talk to yah!"

George shook his head, not bothering to shout down to him.

"Get down here or I'm coming up there!"

George rolled his eyes and shot the man the bird before straightening up and walking away from the balcony. Annoyance, not anger, was what filled him and he didn't have time to entertain every idiot who shouted up fighting words. Besides, how was this guy gonna get past the police line outside?

George padded silently over to the couch and threw himself on top, sighing tiredly as he felt sleep try to creep back into his limbs. True exhaustion was having it's way with him and now and George sighed as his eyes slid closed.

_Bam! Bam! Bam!_

What the hell?

_Bam! Bam! Bam!_

"Get out here Beatle! I'll break down the door!" The guy from outside shouted. George smirked, oh would he now? George would very much like to see that.

But despite common sense and that general instinct to survive, George found himself walking slowly to open the door.

On the other side stood a six foot, solidly built blonde man, who's face was red and angry like a bull. George raised a tired eyebrow and leaned against the door, staring the man up and down animatedly.

"Can I help you?" He asked, not bothering to hide the scathing annoyance.

"What the hell you wavin' at people for? Eh?" The man snarled, eyes as red as his face. George had to wonder if this guy was allright, like mentally. Something was off here...

"I was just enjoying my hotel balconey. It's you who has a problem with it." George said as the people in the hall watched the exchange like some sort of prize fight.

George's heckler seemed to realise this and muscled his way into the room, pushing George to the ground and slamming the door. George moved to get up but the man's foot planted itself firmly to his chest.

"What the hell makes you so special anyway eh?" He demanded, grinding his shoe into George's shirt, "What makes you so damn special Tara left me to drool over a stupid _picture_ of you little fags?" He kicked ruffly at George who squirmed out from under the man's foot. He stood up, rearing back and socking the intruder in the jaw, sending him reeling backwards a few steps.

"Get out." George snarled, "Just get the hell out you stupid-auck!" George tripped over the sofa as he was punched in the jaw. The man jumped him, reaching over the back of the couch and pressing all his weight into his arms as his fists wrapped around George's neck.

George tried to scream but only managed a few choking sounds. He kicked furiously, his efforts growing weaker as he clawed desperatly at the ham-like fingers around his throat. His arms flailed about, knocking things from the coffee table to the ground.

_"This is it,"_ He suddenelly thought, _"It's over..."_

But then there was a distinctive **THWACK!** and the man stumbled backwards, his grip loosening. George coughed, air surging back into his lungs as he tried to reinflate his lungs in under ten seconds.

John stood over the both of them, furious and holding a lamp upside down, the shade having fallen off and rolled away somewhere. The intruder rubbed the sore spot over his head and glared angrily at John, who raised the lamp again and prepared to fight as George slowly pulled himself into an upright position, still coughing and hacking.

"Get the hell out." John snarled, "I've already called security so this is your chance to run."

The intruder scowled but John rushed at him with the lamp and he jumped backwards. John smirked, lowering the weapon.

"That's what I thought. _Now out!_" John bellowed, pointing at the door.

Furious and defeated, the man sent one last scowl to each Beatle and opened the door, disapearing from sight.

The moment he locked the door, John turned to scowl at George.

"What the hell eh? I get woken up to come break up a scuffle between some bruiser and my kid brother. Lovely, just lovely. Did ya ever think I was tired 'arrison? Eh? Even once? I can't be savin' your scrawny butt all the time now!"

"Shutup Lennon!" George coughed, "Just shutup!"

John slapped him, "No, you shutup! Just don't say anything till I'm done with you! How the hell did he get in here anyway? Did you open the door to him? Invite him for tea?"

"Yes."

"How stupid-what?" John's face momentarily lost anger to confusion, which gave way to pure rage.

"I always thought you were a bit naive but this takes the f-"

"He was being annoying, so I opened the door to tell him to go away!" George defended.

"That's when you call security you git!"

"I can handle my own problems."

"Well apparantly you can't!" John bellowed, rattling the windows, "You can't you stupid git! Now get the hell out of my sight! I don't want to see you until we have to leave later!"

* * *

The fight between George and John did not go unnoticed by the others. As Ringo fretted over the bruises around George's neck and jaw Paul begged with John to leave George alone. Which John did for the most part, only pausing every once in a while to hurl scathing insults from across the room whenever he saw fit.

When Brian came in the room John took particular delight in recounting the incident, highlighting how he'd found George flailing and struggling pathetically like a bird and he'd had to save him like those guys in the movies. Brian rolled his eyes at the account but thanked John nonetheless before rounding on George for letting someone, an obviously dangerous someone, into the suite and not expecting anything to happen.

"What would possess you to do something like that?" He asked, sounding more like a dissapointed parent than an aggrivated manager.

George shrugged from his seat on the couch next to Ringo, "Just found him annoying is all. Thought I could handle him."

"He was atleast three times bigger than you!" John snapped.

"Thank you John," Brian hissed, "George you should have called security."

George shrugged again, "Never occured to me."

Brian sighed, realising he was getting no where with George and throwing in the towel.

"Fine, just... just don't let it happen again." He sighed, walking away.

"Sorry..." George mumbled only loud enough for Ringo to hear.

Ringo was rather angry as well. He wanted to protect the Scouse guitarist, and here he was trying to get himself killed! Ringo felt his fingers shake and twitch when he thought about it, the anger threatening to break that laid back shell of his.

He watched George aimlessly flip through a magazine beside him and couldn't help but wonder what was going through his best friend's head at that moment. Was he even affected by the fact that someone had tried to kill him? He didn't show it. In fact, he looked bored.

"Hey," He said softly, elbowing George in the arm, "Whatchu thinkin' about?" He asked.

"Nothin'..." George shrugged, "Whatchu thinkin' about?"

"Mostly, breakfast." Ringo smiled, "Come on, I want somethin' to eat." Ringo tugged at George's arm until he stood up and the two walked calmly to the door.

"Gonna grab a bite." Ringo said to Mal, who nodded without even looking up from the newspaper he was reading.

Wordlessly Ringo opened the door and shouldered past the sudden surge of people waiting for them to appear. He stayed close to George, steering him to walk close to the wall so Ringo became the buffer between him and everyone else. Ringo brushed them off, Ringo waved the cameras away, Ringo was the one pelted with stupid questions. George remained seperated from it all somehow, grateful to be ignored.

* * *

While John's cutting remarks and hurtful jabs had lessened in the passing week, his anger had not. George found it best to avoid him as much as possible, and John made no effort to correct George's thinking. He still cast George a dark look every now and again, and no amount of partying or drinking or anything could make him forget that moment where George had almost gotten himself killed simply because he'd been a little annoyed.

He watched George casually from across the room a few days later, clutching a glass of wine in his hand. His fifth or six glass if he wasn't mistaken. Maybe seventh actually, it wasn't like he cared to keep count while he was at some mixer the Beatles had been invited to. He was buzzed, the alchohol sending him into a heightened, slightly skewed version of reality. It was much easier to smile, to take the inane chatter and pointless jokes around him.

But as he watched George, at first with contempt, he slowly found he felt he needed to watch the kid as concern began to override the hate.

George had been drinking steadily all night. Grabbing a new glass seconds after he'd finished the previous one. Slowly he was crumbling from buzzed Beatle, smiling kindly at whatever was said to him to a blinking, slightly confused drunk. John looked around at the other Beatles, hoping one of them had seen.

Paul, as John rolled his eyes upon seeing him, was busy chatting up some important looking men while at the same time entertaining some very pretty young ladies. Ringo, thankfully, seemed to have spotted George as he got a little to chummy with a man who was passing him drink after drink.

Still, John found himself slowly edging towards the couch George, and now Ringo, was sitting on. Watching the entire time incase the man who handed George yet another glass, in case for some odd reason he leaped on the guitarist as well to choke him. The lamps here were far to scrawny in John's opinion. They probably wouldn't work as well.

Minutes after sitting down Ringo reached past a drunk George and snatched something out of the man's hands, replacing it with George's glass of wine. He then lifted George by the arm and led him out of the room as quick as he could, with George stumbling every now and again. He tripped over the rug and Ringo quickly helped him to his feet as a few nearby socialites giggled. John watched Ringo shoot them a dark look before he left the room, George in tow.

Brian approached John a few minutes later, "We're gonna try and leave in maybe twenty minutes, beat the reporters to the hotel."

John only nodded, staring back into his drink and shaking it around slightly in the glass.

* * *

Ringo ripped pages from the notebook he'd snatched before tossing it into the waste bin he passed as he walked George to the car. George was slowly trudging along, blinking slowly and silent as he followed. Ringo tore the pages of "George's Interview" into shreds and tossed those to the ground behind him.

"What were you thinking?" He couldn't help but ask as he almost literally threw George in the car. George merely shrugged and stared at the window dazedly. Ringo sighed and shook his head, shutting the door as he sat next to George.

"So... whatchu thinkin' about?" He asked. George giggled stupidly at the question that was almost becoming a thing between them.

"How good that wine tasted... whatchu thinkin' about?"

"How sad and funny it is that sitting here with a drunk is more entertaining than talking to a french model." Ringo said and George laughed, the alcohol making everything funnier. Ringo had seen him smiling so much in daze, even if it was brought on by intoxication. Ringo smiled and lightly bumped George's arm with his fist, "She wasn't even that pretty for a model. More like that reporter that tried to slut her way into our suite last week."

"Oh that is ugly... So did you fancy her?" George slurred.

"If I found her unattractive what do you think?" Ringo asked.

George shrugged lightheartedly, "I'm tired if anything... might not even need the sleeping pills..."

Ringo nodded, "I'm completely out... gonna have to remember to get some before we leave tommorow."

"I only have two left." George said.

Suddenelly the car door snapped open and in came Paul. John took the front seat with Brian, who threw the car into drive and they were off. Paul was still laughing with John over something that had happened as they walked out. Ringo didn't pay much attention, and George certaintly wasn't listening, still giggling softly at "ugly french models" as they drove to the hotel.

Ringo helped George from the car, and together the five men walked through a side enterance and towards the elevator, emerging into a nearly deserted hall and slipping quietly into their suite.

"Good night boys." Brian called as he walked to the door adjoining the suite with the one next door. Paul and John waved goodnight and headed for their perspective rooms, Paul walking in to find George clumsily pulling his boots off and somehow managing to change into sleepwear despite claiming not to be able to see straight he was so drunk. Paul smirked as George let out amusing grunts of frustration, trying to button the night shirt up before walking into the bathroom.

When he emerged, hair dripping wet and his own nightshirt becoming slowly damp from the left over water on his skin, Paul found George asleep, one arm hanging over the bed.

Paul smirked and walked to close their door, switching off the light.

* * *

"Is he still asleep?" John asked as he threw down his last bag of luggage, finding everyone's there but George's. Paul nodded tiredly. It was eight in the morning, but he was still ready to collapse like it was six in the morning.

"Ringo... can you please go get him?" Brian asked, voice tight and restrained like he was holding back his anger with alot of effort. Ringo nodded, sighing.

It was dark when he entered the bedroom, Paul probably not thinking as he switched off the light. The blinds and curtains were still drawn preventing much of the light from breaking through.

"George..." Ringo said, kicking the bed frame, "George get up."

George merely laid there, eyes closed and mouth hanging open as he slept. Ringo groaned and walked closer, his foot hitting something. He looked down to see a plastic bottle, rolling away from Ringo's boot. It's cap lay on George's bedside table, top facing the dark rose wood like it had been placed there carefully by long, thin, calloused fingers.

Ringo kicked George's bed again before plucking the bottle off the carpet and turning it around to see what it was.

It was George's sleeping pill bottle... completely empty.


	4. Chapter 4

Terrified, Ringo lept onto George, shaking him madly.

"George?! George wake up!" He cried, "Please! Come on!" He thrashed George around the bed.

"Ringo what's going on?" Brian asked, hearing the commotion. He walked in to see Ringo atop George's bed, shaking the unconcious George, terrified. Tears were forming in his eyes as the worst ran through his mind. How could he have been so stupid?! George was drunk! He could have taken the whole bottle!

He did take the whole bottle, Ringo suddenelly remembered and he began to slap George's face, trying to get a response!

"Ringo!" Brian cried.

"He's dead!" Ringo shrieked, "George wake up!"

"What are you doing?" Paul cried as he and John entered the bedroom, seeing the show before them.

"Ringo what do you-"

"DAMMIT RINGO STOP!" George suddenelly roared, throwing the tiny guitarist to the ground before rolling onto his side, rubbing his cheek as he shook the sleep from his head, blinking slowly.

Paul helped Ringo up, Ringo watching George blink and sit up. He looked over to the four staring at him, eyes wide. Ringo, was wiping the tears from his eyes.

"What?" He asked snappishly.

"We... we thought..." Ringo started but Paul stepped in.

"We thought you killed yourself." He said somberly.

George stared at them like they were crazy, but he didn't say anything as he stood up and walked towards the bathroom.

"Where you?" John couldn't help but ask. George paused, shot them all a dirt look, and locked himself in the bathroom.

* * *

The reaction to the incident that morning was treated like a taboo, no one talked about it, but everyone was thinking about it. Paul had helped George pack, but George began to wonder if Paul was also searching his things for more pill bottles, which there was one but that one went missing as well as he later discovered. Brian began giving him baggies containing two pills every morning, asking for the same bag back because "he couldn't find another one". And George could feel John and Ringo watching him...

It was like being in prison, George decided. What little privacy he had was suddenenlly gone. Now he was watched closely even in the suite, where the press couldn't get to him but his band could.

So when Ringo sat down next to him on the couch a few days later he couldn't help but growl. He'd built a small fort out of the couch pillows around him to create some sort of illusion of privacy and Ringo was threatening to ruin that.

"Having fun in there?" He asked lightheartedly. George thought about replying with a cutting remark... but this was Ringo after all. George couldn't bring himself to do it.

George just nodded silently, looking down at the notebook in his lap. It was supposed to contain his own attempts at songwriting but George had lost interest in that. He'd lost all interest in the whole note book but it was something to do, so he'd begrudgingly plucked it from his luggage and tracked down a pen.

"Are you just sitting there or are you doing something?"

"Nothin'..." George said.

"Oh, that's nice I guess." Ringo said, laying back against one side of George's pillow fort, "Comfy place you got there."

"Yeah..." George nodded, looking back down at the drawings he'd been making. Simple doodles of the others, all doing something stupid, nothing special.

"George... do you want to go out with the rest of us tonight?" Ringo asked.

"To where?"

Ringo looked up at him, "Don't you remember John talking about going to a pub later tonight?"

"No?"

"You were sitting right next to him."

"Guess the pub wasn't that interesting to me then."

"Well do you want to go?"

"Not really."

"Then I'll stay here with you then."

"Why?"

"Because..." Ringo shrugged, closing his eyes, "I'm tired."

"No your not."

"You don't know that."

"I know everythin' Ringo."

"I thought Paul knew everythin'."

"What about me?" Paul asked, walking from his and George's bedroom.

Ringo and George snickered and Paul rolled his eyes before saying, "You've certaintly been busy George."

"It's better than having nothing to do..." George said, returning to his drawings.

"Well if you want something to do, go get dressed and we can leave."

"George and I aren't going." Ringo said. Paul nodded, saying he'd tell John before walking towards Brian, Neil, and Mal's suite where John probably was.

"Ringo... you should go." George said edgily.

"Why?"

"Because," George said, finally looking at his best friend, "You should go. Don't coop yourself up because of me."

"But George, I want to hang out with you."

"Well I don't. Okay?" George's tone began to color with frustration, "Just go okay?"

"No." Ringo said firmly, "Why don't you want anyone around you?"

"Maybe I want a little bit of alone time eh? Something I haven't had for a long time and now Richard Starkey is taking away what little time happened to fall into my lap! Go away Ringo!" George snapped, glaring at him.

The sting of his words stopped Ringo's breathing for a moment, he just stared heartbrokenly at his friend, rage and anguish fighting for control of his emotions.

"Well," He said cooly after a moment, "I'm sorry for being such a bother." Then without another word he stood up and walked towards the adjoining suite, leaving George truly alone for the first time in a long time.

* * *

Ringo and George didn't say another word to eachother as Ringo, Paul, and John left for the pub. Brian and Mal where right behind them and Neil left only after George kicked him out and locked the door.

"Please George?" He pleaded as George watched him from the otherside of the open doorway.

"No Neil." George said before locking the door tight.

George felt like a monster. How could he treat Ringo like that? He was only looking out for him. George felt he should have been comforted by Ringo's willingness to give up his night, but then again it just annoyed him. He felt alone on the inside, why couldn't he be alone on the outside? Why was that so hard? No one else seemed to be able to understand that yet he had hoped his best friend would.

"Dammit Ringo..." He hissed to himself as he sat down on his bed.

It didn't seem anyone would understand that. Ever. He was doomed to living as a show piece forever!

* * *

"Ah cheer up Rings," John said, clapping Ringo on the back, "He'll be there when we get back. I promise."

But the attempts of trying to cheer up the drummer seemed to fall on deaf ears. In truth the words were rather hollow themselves, as everyone couldn't help but worry about the guitarist they'd left behind. The sleeping pills incident had certaintly scared them enough into thinking about it everyonce in awhile. But surely he couldn't bring himself to it? Right?

Right?

Paul chugged pint after pint trying to convince himself of that, the usually gentelmanly bassist drank like a fish trying not to think of the kid from Liverpool he'd dragged around as a teenager, dolling out second helpings of food for him in the cafteria line, chatting him up in Smokers Corner, having him appear to John and the others in an attempt to get him into the greatest band in all of Liverpool.

"Someone watch Paul allright?" Brian instructed John before leaving behind a thick muscled man he'd been talking so animatedly too minutes ago. John glanced at Paul as he downed shots and mugs, not speaking to anyone just drank and John shook his head. When the ladies drank like sailors...

Mal elbowed Ringo in the side, "Look at it this way Rings, maybe George'll be in a better mood when we get back."

'Or he'll be dead.' Ringo thought worriedly as he stood up, "I'm gonna go, my hearts not in it."

"Ringo if you go..." Paul slurred from his seat, waving a mug at the drummer, "I'll be fooorced to take draaastic action!"

"Besides Rings, all you'll do is upset him. The kid is right, he needs room to breathe. Hell, we all need room to breathe." John said, "We wont stay much longer, just sit down. I'm gonna need your help in getting this one up to the hotel anyway."

"I'm not a one John... I'm a Beatle!" Paul cried, laughing.

"Yeah... the drunkest of 'em all!"

Paul merely giggled as he dove back to his drink. Pesky memories...

* * *

He did it out of spite...

That's right spite. Merely to get back at them. Nothing else. Absolutely nothing else...

George held Ringo's bottle of sleeping pills in his hand, the weight of the bottle seeming to grow heavier as he sat on the couch staring at them.

_'It would be so easy...'_ Something dark and not so nice whispered in his mind,_ 'All that privacy you missed... all the annoyances would be gone... Just a few and it's all yours.'_ It scared George to hear that voice, a voice he thought sounded like his, just maybe with a little more malice to it and a few ragged edges around it... it scared him that it was in his brain... talking to him, _'It wouldn't even hurt... like falling asleep'_

George set the bottle on the coffee table, arms shaking and his stomach twisting. He couldn't move... couldn't breathe. He was terrified and he wanted to just crawl under something and hide from that stupid bottle... truly terrified he retreated to the corner of the couch, drawing his knees up and hugging them to his chest.

_'Just a few pills... Just snap the bottle open and it's over. You don't have to put up with this anymore...'_ The voice whispered.

"Go away..." George whimpered, the fear building, "Please go away..."

_'It's right there: your way out of all of this.'_

"Leave me alone." George whispered, seeming to collapse on himself.

_'Take the bottle!'_

George looked at the small white bottle, sitting there so innocently it was hard to believe it was causing him so much trouble. Maybe if he just... held onto it... he'd be fine? He could just hide it in his luggage. He didn't neccassarily have to use it, and no one really needed to know he had it... it was just a precaution. A small solance... his "emergency exit" if you will. It wasn't like he was going to use it right? Taking the bottle didn't mean he had to use it.

With shaking, pale fingers George felt his grasp close around the bottle.

It was like an out of body experience, but he saw the whole thing through his eyes. He felt detatched from the rest of his body as he watched himself pick the bottle up, weigh it in his hands, then stand and walk towards his room. He watched, not really feeling anything, as he knelt before his suitcase and wrapped the small bottle in a pair of his socks. The bundle was then carefully, almost reverently, wormed into the bottom of his suitcase where no one could find it.

Only he could... if he really wanted to.

If he really had to...

That mere thought terrifying him, George crawled into bed, folding into a small ball as he laid down, hands wrapping into his hair as he tried to think about anything other than that stupid bottle.

* * *

"79 bottles of beer on the waaaall! 75 bottles of beer!" Paul belted as John and Ringo dragged him through the door hours later.

"Wow..." John said dryly, "Hey Paul? Shutup!"

"You can't stop the music in me Johnny!" Paul shouted.

"He's gonna wake George up." Ringo said.

"Oh I see what you did! Drunk me up so I can't see Jojie-wojie pie!" Paul slurred, flailing to get out of Ringo's grip.

"No! Paul-"

Without another word John came up from behind and dragged Paul to John and Ringo's room.

"I think we should switch for the night." John said over Paul's shouts. Ringo nodded and locked the hotel door before walking to George and Paul's room.

It was dark when Ringo opened the door, the streetlights outside bleeding light through the drapes.

George was asleep, but that didn't stop Ringo from walking over to his bed to find him curled into a ball on his side, arms over his head like he was seeking some sort of protection. Tear tracks were tattooed along his face and he just looked unhappy as he slept.

Ringo bit his lip, then closed the door to the bedroom and changed into his own nightwear.

George was still in the same position when he looked over at him. Still looking like he was seeking some sort of protection, still looking unhappy.

Without thinking about what he was doing, Ringo simply bypassed the empty bed and sat down on the side of George's, the weight dragging the mattress down and sending George rolling into Ringo's side. Ringo didn't mind, in fact he gently pulled George's arms down before lifting the sleeping George and shifting him so Ringo could climb into bed next to him. He then pulled George into a sitting position, resting the sleeping guitarist's head on his shoulder and holding him close. The action seemed to ease the panic that had been building in his chest all night, eased the fearful thoughts of finding him on the floor somewhere with a bottle rolling out of his fingers or a knife tumbling out of his hand.

"R...Ritchie?" George whispered sleepily, eyes opening just a crack. He looked up, letting his head remain on Ringo's shoulder.

"Hey," Ringo whispered back, "I know you wanted space but..."

"I's allright..." George mumbled, curling up next to Ringo, "I's allright."

"You okay?" Ringo asked. George nodded sluggishly.

"Now..." He whispered as his eyes started to close again.

"Whatchu thinkin' about?" Ringo asked absently.

"How warm you are..."

"That's nice."

"Ritchie?"

"Yeah?"

"You're my best friend." George sighed, seeming to fall back asleep.

"You're my best friend Jojie."


	5. Chapter 5

The tour finally ended the two days later. There was a sense of relief as The Beatles climbed the stairs into the plane. They relaxed as they sat back in their seats, even George managed a small smile as he sat down next to Ringo. He had his notebook out and was busy drawing as the flight took off.

"What's that?" Ringo asked, straining to get a look but George pulled away.

"Nothin'!" George said.

"Doesn't seem like nothin." Ringo said.

"Well it is." George said, "What are you doing?"

"Drummin'." Ringo said, tapping his drumsticks against the back of the seat in front of him. The man in said seat, a thickly built buisness man with an equally thick mustache turned to look at them, a stern frown on his face. Ringo "hehe'd" weakly and waved and George raised a cocky eyebrow as he grinned and shot the man a thumbs up. The man gave them a dark look and turned back around. Ringo sighed dramatically and George rolled his eyes.

"So," Ringo said a few moments later, "You seem... happier."

George shrugged, "Maybe I just needed time." He was fingering the page of the notebook he was hiding from Ringo, "To think things out you know."

Ringo nodded, smiling, "Well I'm glad you're better."

"I feel better." George said, choosing not to tell Ringo about how last night was just as bad as the night before, this time with no Ringo to sleep with him to make things better. He honestly never wanted to experience that again... he didn't want to experience it period but that little pill bottle brought scary thoughts to his head... ones he didn't even think he could, well, think. But he would, he knew, and it was probably never gonna stop.

Unless...

Shuddering, George moved unconiously closer to Ringo, who glanced at him before glancing back out the window.

* * *

"George have you seen my sleeping pills?" Ringo called from his room as he unpacked.

"No?" George said from his has he stuffed that horrible sock bundle into his side table.

"Maybe I left it at the hotel... ah oh well I guess I'll just buy more. So what's this?" He asked as he walked into George's room and saw the notebook lying open on George's bed. It was open to George's latest "masterpiece", and Ringo had to say for someone with no art talent this was a pretty good drawing.

George blushed, "Ah, nothin' Ringo-"

"It's great. Did you finish it?"

"Yeah, actually. I was just gonna throw it in the back of a drawer or somethin' though."

"This is great George."

George was silent before he took the notebook and carefully tore the page out, holding it out to Ringo, "You want it?"

"Really?" Ringo asked, surprised.

"Yeah, you obviously appreciate it more than I do." George said, "Here."

Ringo took the paper carefully, looking at the drawing happily, "Thanks Joj."

"Anytime." George smiled.

* * *

Ringo woke to the smell of pancakes wafting through the flat. Surprised, Ringo walked out to find George in the kitchen, easing a blueberry pancake off the skillet with a spatula.

"Morning." George said without looking up. He then handed the whole stack to Ringo, who looked at it with surprise.

"Are you not eating?" He asked.

"Sure, but I have to make mine first." George said, smiling.

"Well then have some of mine, I wont be able to finish all these." Ringo said, "I'm not you silly."

A look shadowed George's face before he grinned again, giggling, "Allright." He grabbed another plate and sat down across from Ringo, snatching two pancakes for himself.

* * *

"Bye George!" George called to the music producer as he and Ringo left the studio that night. George Martin raised an eyebrow in surprise before looking at Brian.

"He's not at all how you described on the phone yesterday." He said.

Brian nodded slowly, "I know, but that's allright isn't it? I mean, last week we thought he tried to commit suicide but now he's alot better. Almost as happy as when I first met him."

George Martin nodded, looking down at Paul and John who were going over something scribbled on a sheet of paper. They seemed tired, which was understandable considering they'd gotten back from tour yesterday. Even Ringo seemed to be dragging himself through the later half of the recording session today. But George... George had been happy and ready to do anything they'd asked, pointing things out to John and injecting his thoughts into the conversations. Which was very different from before the tour, when he'd remained quiet, taking John or Paul's shouting at him for mistakes or George Martin's rejecting his songs with a calm mask on his face.

It was great to see a smile on his face again...

So why did it send a shiver down George Martin's spine?

* * *

"Hey George?" Ringo walked slowly from his shower towards George's bedroom, "George do you know where the extra box of sleeping pills went from the cupboard?" He was wrapped in nothing but a towel, the water still driping off his skin and hair.

George looked up from his guitar, "No... Do you need them to take a shower though?"

"No..." Ringo blushed, "I just thought I could use 'em to replace my missing bottle."

"That missing bottle probably was the extra."

"No I bought a full one for the tour, I always do." Ringo said.

George shrugged, "I dunno." He then looked back down to where his notebook lay open. It was once again being used for it's intended purpose: songwriting.

"So what's this one then?" Ringo asked, walking closer to look at it. George attempted to close it but Ringo saw the title before he could stop him.

"_When I Die_?" Ringo asked, "George... what kind of a song is that?"

"A song." George said, frowning and looking at the comforter with great interest. Ringo frowned and snatched the notebook up, much to the disaproval of George. He started to flip through it.

"Oi!" George cried, trying to snatch it back but Ringo moved out of they way.

What he saw horrified him.

Past the songs from before, towards the middle, where drawings of figures getting hurt and dying, tombstones, even a few grim reapers flying around. Then there came the song "When I Die", it's lyrics begging the listeners not to be sad, that it was for the best...

"Give that back!" George cried, finally wrenching the book from Ringo's grasp. He tucked it under his arm and stalked back to the bed. Ringo stared at George in horror.

"George..."

"What?" George snapped.

Ringo shook his head, his chest constricting.

"George why would you write a song like that?"

"Because... I could." George shrugged, like it was no big deal."

Ringo glowered, "George, where are the sleeping pills?"

"I don't have any remember?"

"Where are they George?" Ringo said dangerously.

"Look what's the big deal?" George asked, "I wrote a song, sorry."

"And drew these 'orrible drawings-"

"Well I'm sorry my art sucked so much it upset you."

"No George, I mean they were of horrifying images. Why would anyone do that?" Ringo asked, "George why did you draw those?"

"Because I wanted to." George said, voice getting small.

"Why?"

"Ringo get out! You're in a bloody towel!" George cried suddenelly.

"I'm gonna find those pills." Ringo said, walking towards the door, "And when I do I'm throwing them out."

George rolled his eyes, resisiting the urge to touch his nightstand.

* * *

_'It's as easy as one... two... three!_'

_'No one needs you... except to take pictures of you, gawk at you, yell at you, laugh at you...'_

_'You'll never escape!'_

George woke with a start, shaking slightly. That voice was back... after so many days of peace... it was back. Snarling at him like he was a pathetic creature...

George couldn't take it anymore.


	6. Chapter 6

"Hello?" John's voice groaned into the phone. It was eleven o'clock at night and _now_ someone decides to call? He'd only just gotten home! He wanted to sleep first before being bothered.

"J-john?"

"Ringo? Why do you need to talk to me _now_?"

"John I really need to talk to you and Paul." Ringo's voice trembled and John's lost a bit of it's edge.

"Allright, allright. We'll meet at your apartment tommorow."

"That might be to late!" Ringo suddenelly cried.

"For what?" John asked and Ringo took a breath, like he was about to reply, when there was a shuffling behind him and Ringo suddenenlly said, rather rushed, "See you tommorow." And hung up.

"Ringo?" John stared at the phone as the dial tone sang before setting the phone back in it's cradle.

Later that night, John was awakened by the phone a second time.

"Hello?" He grumbled.

"Meet at Paul's tommorow, seven o'clock."

"That in four hours!"

But the line was already disconnected.

* * *

He had to do this... or else it wouldn't stop.

He didn't have a choice anymore, and that somehow made it easier to sit here and wait for Ringo to sneak out like George knew he was planning to. He knew they were having a meeting without him. They were probably going to replace him. They did this when they were kids, they held meetings without band members they didn't want anymore. So why should he be surprised when they did it to him? Why would it hurt?

Except he'd gotten this far and _now_ they chose to replace him? They completely ruined his life and now they wanted to make it all go away? Except it wouldn't, if anything it would probably get worse. Now he wouldn't have the police protection or Brian's protection, or anything. He'd be left to fend for himself.

There was no way out, George could see that now. It wasn't going to stop, so he realised he had to stop instead.

The moment the door shut George sat up, pacing the length of his room anxiously before his eyes settled on his notebook.

With shaking hands George snatched it and a pen up before he started to write frantically. They had to know why he was doing this, they had to understand.

* * *

"Hello." Paul said as he opened the door to the Asher kitchen.

Ringo nodded, stepping in quickly and sitting on the bar stool next to John, who had a mug of coffee in his hand and was drinking from it non-stop.

"This better be good." He growled when he came up for air.

"It's about George." Ringo said, and both Paul and John's eyebrows turned into a dry smirk.

"We kinda figured that when you didn't invite him along. Now what is it? Has he professed his love to ya?" Paul asked, sipping from his own mug.

"No!" Ringo groaned, "I... I think he's gonna commit suicide!"

The words hung in the air before Paul managed to stammer, "A-and what makes you think that Ringo?"

"I... I can't find the sleeping pills anywhere... and he keeps writing and drawing the most depressing, death-centered things."

A small commotion behind them revealed itself to be Mr. Asher. Paul looked behind him to say good morning when the older man walked his way over.

"Morning."

"Morning, what's all this talk of death?"

Paul looked at John, who in turn looked at Ringo, who stared at the doctor beside Paul and said, "I think George is planning to... to kill himself."

"What are his symptoms?"

"What?"

"His symptoms, his behaviour. Has he gone through a traumatic event?" Mr. Asher sipped his coffee and stared intently at the three musicians.

"Beatlemania is pretty traumatic." Paul sighed, smirking dryly.

"He was upset about the intrusions of his privacy," Ringo said, "And... and he was just depressed all the time. He wanted to be left alone. We... we thought he did commit suicide at one point. He took his sleeping pills after getting drunk."

"Always dangerous," Mr. Asher injected, sipping his coffee again.

Ringo nodded, "But we thought he was getting better towards the end. He was in a better mood, and happy. But when the extra bottle of sleeping pills went missing... and I saw the things he'd been doing in that notebook... I don't know anymore." Ringo's lower jaw was begining to shake.

Mr. Asher nodded, "Has he given prized items away?"

"What do you mean?" John asked, he was slowly growing from tired and grumpy to wary as he listened.

"Has he given stuff away suddenelly, just out of the blue. Things people he knew would want but they were his."

"He gave me a drawing he worked pretty hard on." Ringo said.

"Has he acted recklessly?" Mr. Asher continued.

"He let a stranger into the suite who'd tried to pick a fight with him." John said, remembering how he'd walked out to see the young guitarist pinned to the couch, slowly getting the life choked out of him.

"And taking of sleeping pills while drunk." Ringo added, remembering the fear coursing through him as he made the discovery, thinking his best friend had died right there.

"Boys..." Mr. Asher looked grim, he watched the surface of his coffee, not making eye contact with any of them, "I'm sorry to say this but... Ringo's right. George has shown all the signs one usually looks for."

"And what are those?" Paul asked, to scared to readily accept what his girlfriend's father was saying.

"Well reckless behaviour, the man and the pills and alcohol, the depression, he gave something away, I'm sure he'll give more away as time goes on and he runs into more people, and, well, I believe he's entered the 'calm before the storm', the fact that he seems to be in a better mood and so much easier to be around means... means he's decided to do it. To end his own life."

"No way," John said, glaring hard at the breakfast bar's granite counter top. He'd lost so many people... he couldn't possibly be about to lose another.

"There's no time to argue if I'm right or wrong. Now think carefully, does he have access or has he recently aquired anything he could use to kill himself? Has he bought a gun recently or stocked up on pills?"

"The extra bottle of sleeping pills went missing from the bathroo-he stole my pills!" Ringo said frantically, jumping to his feet, "He has two bottles of sleeping pills to swallow!"

"Calm down," Mr. Asher said, sounding like a doctor now. His tone was calm and gentle, yet professional, "Calm down Ringo. Now listen carefully, there's no way you can change his thinking, but you can get him help, and you should do so quickly I should add. The sooner the better."

Ringo was already donning his coat, hurrying to the door. John was behind him, looking pale and shaken. Paul paused only to thank the doctor who smiled and nodded and then he was running after them, shouting for them to get in his car as he ran down the drive.

Only when he'd started the car did Paul realise he'd forgotten to dress into street clothes, or put on shoes.

'Dammit George...' He thought dryly as he sped down the road.

* * *

With a shaky hand George gently placed the sheet of paper on the coffee table. It was his goodbye, and on the back his list of who got what when they... when they found him.

He knew it would be to much of a shock if he threw the whole scene at Ringo at once. He briefly wondered if he should even be in the apartment, but then again where else did he want to be? He couldn't soil a place he loved, and anywhere random was just to cruel to himself. His bed was safe, it always had been. He could... do that... in his bed. It seemed like the only real option when he stopped to think about it.

He didn't want it to hurt... so he decided his first option was his best: the pills. They wouldn't hurt, and like the voice had promised, it would feel like simply falling asleep. He didn't want any drama, nothing for the newspapers to go nuts over, no flashy headlines over blood and guns or knives. Just a quick and painless exit. That was all he needed... that was all he wanted.

But it scared him, he was scared as he forced himself to walk around the apartment one last time. Scared as he stared into the mirror in the bathroom one last time, analyzing his face like he was afraid he'd never see it again. He didn't know, and he wanted to atleast remember what he looked like.

Although, would he want to remember this face in the afterlife? It was pale and ashy, like it didn't want to die. He didn't have a choice though... this was the only way out of his hell! Surely they'd understand that? Surely the person staring back at him in the mirror would understand that?

Finally the inevitable happened: George reached his bedroom. It had gone cold and unfeeling since he'd left. Like it knew he was leaving it soon, and didn't like it.

George sat on the bed, hands shaking as he reached into his side table and with drew the two small bottles. Tears had sprung to his eyes and were now overflowing as he opened Ringos. He wanted Ringo right then, wanted him to hold him like he did that one night George had sat there sobbing. Wanted him to promise those empty promises things would be allright. But apparantly his pill bottle would have to do. George held tight to the plastic, trying to gain some comfort from it but finding none. He would be alone when his life left him, he would be alone and scared and George didn't want that. But again, he didn't have a choice.

Even the voice had left him, had left him to face what it wanted from him alone. But if voices could smile George supposed it was grinning madly as he stared at the pills. Should he try to swallow them all straight from the bottle or should he take a few into his palm?

"Help..." He squeaked, the tears coming down hard now, "Ritchie..."

But no one was there to help him. He'd have to figure this out on his own.

Shaking, George lifted the bottle to his lips, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to see.

* * *

"George!" Ringo screamed, running into the flat, the door nearly flying off the wall as he burst in. Paul and John ran in behind him, Paul diverting to the living room where he saw a sheet of paper sitting forlornly on the coffee table.

"Oh gosh..." Paul whispered, pale.

"What?" John asked.

"It's his suicide note!"

"No..." Ringo ran to George's room, the other's close behind.

George was sitting there on his bed, the bottle in his hand. Then it dropped... and George began to fall backwards.

"George!" Ringo shrieked, running to the guitarist and catching him before he hit the pillows, or more accuratly the headboard as he was sitting to close to the head of the bed. George looked at him drowsily, the tears still flowing from his eyes.

"Call an ambulance!" Ringo cried but Paul was already gone.

"N-no... Ritchie..." George struggled to get the words out, "Don't..."

"How could you do something so stupid?" Ringo asked, begining to sob.

"H-had... to..." George sobbed, "Had... t-to..."

"George..." Ringo smoothed his hair back, wiping the tears from George's face as George's body grew heavier and heavier.

"Ritchie..." He whimpered, "I'm scared..." He tried to lift his hand but his arm was like lead. Ringo was sobbing now as he reached for George's hand, holding tight. George tried to hold on too, but his grip was weak, and growing weaker.

"I'm sorry..." George managed, his eyes begining to close.

"No! No George! George wake up! Please! Please wake up!" Ringo shrieked, dropping the hand to slap at George's face desperatly, to hold it so he could stare into the unfocused eyes that were closing. That didn't look back.

John stood behind Ringo, clutching Ringo's shoulder for support because he couldn't accept this was happening.

"George... please..." Ringo sobbed over the guitarist's body.


	7. Chapter 7

He could feel it...

His life... slipping from him... like falling backwards out of his body maybe... he was just gone. He had to be... He couldn't feel Ringo's warm body against his, couldn't feel the hand holding his...

He was just floating... unfeeling...

_'Please... George please!'_

"I'm sorry..."

_'In there!_'

"What?"

But then it all slipped away from him, and all George knew was darkness.

John was like a statue, the only "helpfull" thing he did was tear Ringo away from George's body so the medics could work on him. And that just felt like betrayal. Ringo clung to him now, sobbing. He didn't care that this was the great, stoic John Lennon, mister hard shell, mister unfeeling. Ringo just sobbed, and for a minute John had to wonder if he'd collapse.

The medics loaded George onto a stretcher, one medic sitting ontop of him performing CPR as the other two carried him to the ambulance outside.

The area was lined with bystanders, watching in shock as George Harrison was carried into an ambulance, not breathing. Ringo followed them close behind, jumping into the ambulance and taking George's clammy hand in his trembling one and holding tight. Tears flowed freely as they drove, Ringo doing his best to keep from screaming as they drove.

"Sir please let go." One of the medics said, and Ringo let go as George was carried from the ambulance, dragging his arm over the stretcher. He was loaded onto a gurney and the medics started running, Ringo right alongside as they burst through the pristine glass doors.

"Sir!"

It couldn't be happening.

"Sir please come with me."

They were pulling Ringo away from George.

"George!"

"Mr. Starr we need you to come this way."

"No! I won't leave him!"

But George was already gone. Disapeared through a large set of white double doors with small square windows, where Ringo couldn't see, couldn't help, couldnt be with George.

The car couldn't possibly go fast enough as John drove Paul's car to the hospital. Paul was to much of a wreck to do anything really. He clutched George's suicide note in his hands, crying and gasping for breath, at times bending in half to try and regain his breath when the tears became to much.

John seemed much more stable than Paul, but in truth he was just as bad, the despair and pain driving deep into him, the only thing keeping him from pulling over and sobbing with Paul was his hard outer shell. Hell was raging in his brain and he honestly didn't see how he was driving when he was this upset.

They found Ringo sobbing in the ER room, Paul sitting down and promptly joining him as John walked to the nurse's desk.

"George Harrison?" He asked, his voice broken and strained. The nurse looked at him, at his ashy, strained face, and then looked down at her notes.

"In the process of having his stomach pumped. Wait here and the doctor will be right with you."

John could only nod before going to sit down. It was like he was detatched from his body, there was that one part of his mind that refused to accept that this was happening, that he could lose yet another person from his life. He just wanted the death to stop, why was that so much to ask? Why did George have to pick up the bottle? Why not the bloke next door? Someone he didn't actually know.

Paul was wiping the last of the tears from the latest wave of sobs from his face. In his other hand was the suicide note, he'd actually forgotten he was carrying it and now he couldn't let it go. It disgusted him, horrified him, but it was a link to George. Something he'd touched, and somehow it seemed to fool Paul into thinking he was alive still, that he was fine. That Paul was just being foolish in sitting here and crying beside Ringo, who was leaning on his shoulder because the drummer had lost the ability to support himself in his grief.

Paul looked over at John, who was pale, and was just staring at the tiled floor. Like he expected George to somehow pop out of it completely fine.

Like none of this had happened, it had all been some sick, twisted nightmare.

"George Harrison?" An older man in purple scrubs called.

He was still asleep, an IV speared into his hand that pumped liquids into his thin, lanky body.

"George!" Ringo cried, running to his bedside and clearing the bangs from his eyes, "George can you hear me?"

"He'll be in and out of it for awhile." The Doctor, Doctor Malkins, said as he walked in behind Ringo. Paul and John followed closely after, hanging on the doctor's every word, "He may wake up today he may not. But when he does don't expect him to be awake for long, or even completely know whats going on. We barely got to him in time, a minute more and it would have been to late."

Ringo attempted to stifle a whimper but only managed to strangle the sound slightly as he bit his fist and tears returned to his eyes. George's hand was incased in a death grip now, and Ringo was shaking horribly. He'd almost lost his best friend...

"Another thing..." Doctor Malkins looked uncomfortable now, "He may not remember attempting suicide."

"What?" Paul asked, going a shade paler, "So we'd have to... have to tell him?"

The Doctor nodded, "This is your choice of course but he'll have to know eventually. He'll need counseling too, it's the only way for him to get better."

John nodded, "Thanks doctor, we'll take it from here."

"I'll be back later to check on him." Doctor Malkins said before disapearing through the door.

Ringo turned back to the sleeping George, who sighed in his sleep and seemed so peaceful.

It wasn't fair really.

How could he lay there, sleeping, when he'd just thrown everyone he loved into their own personal hells? Ringo was blinded by a flash of anger as he stared down at George, he wanted to throw this kid through the next wall! How could he? Didn't he think even once about what he was doing to everyone? What he was giving up? What he was leaving behind?

Who he was leaving behind?

"Ya daft git!" Ringo sobbed angrily, "Ya bloody daft twit!" He pounded the mattress by George's thigh.

"Ringo!" John snapped.

"Ringo come sit down." Paul patted the seat next to his, "Please, before ya do somethin' rash."

"What like George?" Ringo raged, "He's allowed to do something rash but I'm not?"

Paul's eyes were filling with tears again, "No," He hissed, "No he doesn't."

John growled, "Sit down Starr or dammit I'll _make_ you sit down!"

Ringo sat, glowering at John the whole time. Paul moved his chair closer to Ringo's and leaned back, closing his eyes and rubbing a hand across his face.

"We forgot to phone Brian." He realised, the absurdity of the sentence making him break into a heartbroken grin.

"I'll do it later." John mumbled, propping his feet on Paul's knees and sitting back.

"No you'll do it now." Paul said, letting his legs drop so John's feet slid painfully down them. John gave him a dark look before standing and walking out the door.

"Honestly it's like he's a child." Paul mumbled tiredly.

_Ring... Riiiing... Riiiiiing..._

_"Brian Epstein speaking."_

"'Ello? Eppy?"

_"John?"_

"Yeah, umm, Brian... George... can't come in to record the new album for a few days." John said, a desperate hollow feeling clawing it's way into his stomach, "In fact none of us are coming in for the next few days."

_"Why?"_ Brian sounded worried, and John really didn't want to continue this conversation, _"John you can't just decide something like that! Do you know how much money we'll lose if-"_

"George is in hospital Brian." John said quickly, squeezing his eyes shut tight and his fingers twisting tight around the phone cord.

It was silent for a long while before Brian managed to say, more whisper, _"What... what happened?"_

John's breathing constricted and it took several minutes and alot of swallowing before he choked out, "He... he stole Ringo's sleeping pills... and... and," Something in his voice broke and he couldn't go on.

_ "John? John it's allright. I'm coming down there right now." _Brian said and before John could say another thing the connection was severed.

John stared at the phone biting his lip. It felt like he'd just called his father... and then again he felt like maybe he should have kept quiet about George maybe a little longer.

He didn't want just anyone to see his baby brother after all.

Paul was still wearing his pajamas, and as he leaned back in the chair with his eyes closed it looked like he was just as much a patient in the hospital as George was.

The suicide letter had not left his fist the entire time, but as he began to drift his grip began to slacken, and suddenelly the scrap of paper was flying across the floor to rest against John's shoe as he stepped in. John picked it up between two fingers gingerly, like he was holding something disgusting. He looked it over before huffing in anger and slamming the paper down on the small table beside George's bed. Paul didn't stir and neither did Ringo, who was still sitting next to George, watching him angrily.

"What's wrong?" John asked.

"That's a funny question." Ringo seethed.

"Look, don't... don't yell at him allright? It's the last thing he needs, and besides he's gonna get an earfull from Brian and Paul alone. He's gonna need a friend."

"He did have a friend! He had plenty! And he still decides to go and jump ship?" Ringo raged.

John sighed, his anger begining to fade in the face of Ringo's, "Look, just don't be rough on him okay? That's the worst thing you could do at the moment."

"The worst thing I could do? The worst thing I EVER did was leave him alone with those pills!" Ringo cried, and his voice cracked roughly, "I don't think there's anything more worse that I could do!"

George shifted and John tensed, putting a hand on Ringo's arm to get his attention.

"What?" Ringo snapped, "Why are you touching me?" John nodded his head towards George and Ringo wipped his head around to look at him, the anger melting into concern.

"George?" He said, sounding almost desperate, "Georgie c'mon! Wake up, please?"

George groaned and wearily half opened his eyes, looking right at Ringo dazedly and frowning before pulling his hand out of Ringo's.

"Where's Ritchie?" He croaked, his throat raw from the stomach pumping.

Ringo blinked in confusion for a few seconds, before he said, "I am Ritchie."

George blinked wearily a few times before opening his eyes a little more, "Ringo?"

"Yes!" Ringo said, his voice weak.

"Ringo," George's eyes filled with tears and he leaned forward to wrap his arms around the tiny drummer, "Ringo I'm scared... W-what happened?"

Ringo held tight, not wanting to let go ever again, "You swallowed a whole bottle of sleeping pills."


	8. Chapter 8

George pulled away quickly, wiping his eyes frantically, "I... I what?"

"You swallowed a whole bottle of sleeping pills... my sleeping pills." Ringo said, smoothing George's hair back in an attempt to be soothing as George's world took a turn for the worst. An even larger torrent of tears released themselves and he drew back into the bed, drawing his knees up as John raised the bed into a sitting position for him. Ringo rubbed small circles into his back as George cried, wiping at his eyes incessantly to try and get rid of them, although they were replaced with more tears seconds later.

"No... no if that's the case then I should be dead." George whimpered, "Why would I not be dead."

"Because we found you in time." John said, his tone becoming dangerous as the anger surged back to make itself known.

George, his head resting on his knees, looked over at John and Ringo tiredly, "I wanna be dead." He muttered, eyes begining to close.

"Why George?" Ringo couldn't help but ask.

"I don't wanna be alive..."

"What a stupid thing to say." John snarled in disgust.

George's breathing hitched and he started crying again, "If I'm so stupid then why wont you let me die? Make the whole planet smarter..."

"George..." Ringo's voice was tinged with heartbreak, but before he could say anything else the door opened behind them.

"George!" Brian practically ran in, hurrying to stand by George's bedside, "George are you allright?"

"What a stupid question." John sighed, leaning back into his chair.

George looked at Brian tearfully, more sobs racking his thin frame. Brian sighed and took his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze.

"George you're allright."

George shook his head, "No I'm alive! And I didn't even know I commited suicide so I don't know what I did wrong!"

Brian looked taken aback by the exclamation, but didn't let go of George's hand as he cried.

"George you're gonna have to calm down or the nurse will give you a sedative." He said gently. George just shook his head, burying his head in his knees and crying softly.

A knock on the door alerted everyone to the Doctor's reappearance. He entered, holding a clipboard against his chest as he looked it over. He glanced up and saw George sitting up, the doctor offering a gentile smile as he took Brian's place at George's bedside.

"I see you're awake Mr. Harrison," Doctor Malkins said, "How do you feel?"

"Go away..."

"Not well I see."

Another wave of sobs broke through George's chest and he shook with sobs, "I wanna die..."

"I see, Mr. Harrison I'm going to give you something to help you sleep. Maybe when you wake up you'll be a bit calmer."

"I want Ritchie..." George mumbled through a fresh wave of tears, and Ringo frowned as the doctor approached George's IV stand. Taking a bottle from his coat he filled a syringe with the sedative, injecting it into George's IV and then stepping back. He turned to look at the Beatle's manager.

"Alert me or a nurse when he wakes up again, and do not leave him alone."

Brian nodded, looking worriedly at George as he began to subbcum to the medicine. Ringo slid past him to hold George's hand as he fell back against the raised mattress, his eyes struggling to stay open and his legs falling straight as he became weak. Ringo bit his lip, wiping away the last of George's tears with the pad of his thumb.

George let his head bob up and down as his body began to weaken, and the last thing he saw was Ringo as he pressed the button on the bed to lower the mattress again, saw his blue eyes fill with tears as George's closed, darkness overtaking his senses.

He was glad to leave again, except now he couldn't feel Ringo's protective hand holding his.

Paul was still asleep when the door opened again to reveal Mr. Asher appearing to look in on things. He smiled kindly at John who nodded, having been the one to call him and thank him in a moment of gratefull loonacy. He had to wonder now why he even made a call like that except he was so overwhelmed he really didn't know what he was doing anymore.

Ringo had not let go of George's hand since he'd fallen asleep, his face grey and hard. He wanted to cry so badly but the tears refused to burn his eyes, refused to let him find some sort of release from the pain he was feeling right now.

Mr. Asher sat down next to John, "How is he?"

"Suicidal..." John said, shrugging, "Kept crying over how he was still alive till the doctor put him to sleep."

"He's just mixed up right now." Mr. Asher said, "When he wakes up just be gentle."

"John Lennon gentle," Ringo sneered from his seat beside George, "That I'd pay money to see."

John frowned but Mr. Asher just placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

Paul moaned from his seat and opened his eyes wearily, "What's this about payin' money? George didn't damage something did he?"

"Not physically." Ringo spat.

Paul frowned at him before looking over to see John and Mr. Asher wathcing him.

"What?" He asked.

"I believe you forgot something this morning." John snickered as Mr. Asher grinned. Paul frowned and looked down, to see his blue and grey pin striped pajamas covering his body. He paused before looking at the others to pray for gratitude he'd taken the slippers off before Ringo and John had come over.

"I'm sexy in anything I wear." Paul shrugged tiredly, "And anyway, not like I can leave right?"

"Sure you can." John sniggered, "But I'm sure George will aprecciate the fact you chose him over your clothes."

Paul merely rolled his eyes and closed them again, lying back, "Truth is, I'm just to comfortable to move."

"I figured as much," John said, the amusement begining to fade.

"Ringo kept me all night on the phone, can you blame me?"

"Sorry for being worried for my band mate." Ringo snarled angrily, his voice heavy with emotion. He tried to hide his shaking hands in his lap, looking at the tile.

"Right... I was just joking Ringo." Paul said.

"Ringo, maybe you should go home for awhile." John said, "You've gotten the least amount of sleep out of all of us, I'm sure you could use some."

"I'm not leaving George." Ringo said.

"You're no good to him like this."

"Like what?"

"Like you're about to explode." John said.

Ringo glowered at the rythm guitarist, not moving at all. Mr. Asher cleared his throat and leaned forward.

"George is going to be going in and out of conciousness for the next few days Ringo, he'll be confused and he'll probably say things he normally wouldn't because he's so frazzled. Now, to be able to deal with this you're going to need to be at your top game, and right now you're not. Go home, get some sleep, and come back in a few hours. We'll call you if he wakes up and you're not here."

When Ringo still didn't move John sighed and stood up, pulling Ringo to his feet. He gently seperated George's hand from his and directed him out the door.

"John please... I don't want to leave him..." Ringo begged, "He wouldn't even be here if I'd actually watched him like-"

"He would have done it anyway." John said, "There was nothing you could have done to stop him from trying Rings. Now stop being a prissy bird and _move!_"

To insulted and upset to come up with a retort, Ringo let himself be led to the car and sat down inside it. Then John started it and they started driving. It was awkardly quiet, Ringo preffering to watch what was passing him through the window then say anything. The sky had gone gray overhead and threatened rain with a thunder clap here and there.

"Do you want me to stay...?" John asked, finding Ringo going back to the apartment where George had almost died just... wrong somehow.

"No... no it's fine." Ringo mumbled, getting out and slamming the door closed, "I'll be by later I guess." John flinched at the venom in the drummers voice but nodded, only driving off when Ringo disapeared through the door, slamming it closed.

Ringo stood in the entryway like a statue. They'd left the lights on when they'd left, been in to much of a rush to remember to save electricity...

A violent burst of thunder from outside snapped Ringo back to reality, sending him to snap the front light off as he walked slowly through the hall, shedding his coat and leaving it on the ground where it landed. He did the same with his sweater and shoes and flopped onto his bed in his t-shirt and jeans, eyes burning but still not crying.

After twenty minutes of laying there Ringo decided this wasn't working. He sat up, his muscles aching and his whole body tinged with exhaustion. But every time he closed his eyes he saw George with that bottle... saw George falling backwards as he attempted to leave everyone and everything behind... saw him cry and whisper how scared he was as the light dimmed in his eyes. Ringo whimpered and laid back down, pulling the covers over his head in some sort of attempt to hide from the dark feelings in his heart.


	9. Chapter 9

George didn't wake up till the next day as the clock approached noon. The doctor had explained this was normal to the worried Beatles and their manager, and when they saw George slowly open his dark eyes they watched quietly to see what he would do.

Ringo had by now returned, and taken the seat beside now a properly clothed Paul, who was holding a small notepad as he attempted to find something to occupy his time that wasn't worrying over their suffering guitarist.

Ringo was still angry. At himself, at George, at the other two because they were in the same position as him... only it was worse for him. If only he hadn't left that morning... if only he'd really made an effort to find the pills... If only he wasn't so stupid as to think tucking him in one night would be enough!

George groaned as he sat up, Ringo hurrying to raise the bed again so George could recline against it.

"Thanks..." George muttered tiredly, "Where am I?"

"The hospital... remember?" Ringo asked.

"Oh yeah," George said, one corner of his mouth pulling upward, "I tried to jump ship and blew it right?"

Everyone stiffened at George's words and Paul nodded.

"You're being rather calm about this," Brian said, testing the waters, "Yesterday you were beyond consoling."

"Well..." George said and for the first time he looked at them, tears sliding down his face, "I've always been a good actor..."

Ringo sighed, "George..." He pulled him close and George didn't fight him, but he didn't return the embrace. He just laid his head against Ringo and let Ringo squeeze his shoulder. For a moment George closed his eyes and let the exhaustion make itself known, let the pain and fear he'd been living with overwhelm him and burn in his chest like it usually did.

Paul looked at John who was watching the window outside. Brian sighed and stood up, muttering how he had alot to take care of and would be back later before walking out. Ringo didnt move until George pulled away, sliding to the otherside of the bed and pulling his knees close. He wiped the last of his tears away and began watching the window like John, looking small and insignificant. Feeling that way as well.

Ringo looked at the others, who shrugged.

"George... you know we care about you right?" Paul asked.

"Yeah."

"And that we don't want you to get hurt?" John added.

"Yeah."

"So why... why could you do... this?" Ringo asked, asking the hardest question of them all.

George was silent, his gaze slipping from the window and towards the blanket covering his knees. He finally shrugged, running a finger along the edge of the white blanket.

"I don't care about meself?... Or... Maybe I don't want to be here anymore..." George said quietly, so quiet the others almost missed it, "It's rather lonely bein' famous... I just didn't figure it out till it was to late." His eyes were half open and his breathing was begining to slow.

"You're lonely Joj?" Paul asked.

"Funny right? Not being alone for a second can still make you lonely. I guess it takes a genius to realise those two things aren't really the same." George said tiredly, laying his head back against the raised half of the mattress. His eyes were starting to close, growing heavier by the moment, "I guess I only really learned that... after Stu left... and Paul started playing with John more."

Paul was quiet, gaze slipping from George towards the floor. Slowly he stood up and walked from the room, tears begining to build behind his burning eyes.

"Paul..." John hurried after him, leaving Ringo alone with a drowsy George, who didn't seem to be aware of what he was saying to whom. His eyes were closed now and Ringo couldn't tell if he was still awake.

Wordlessly, Ringo pulled George out of his corner of the bed, trying to make his friend more comfortable. He laid George on his side and carefully pushed his knees down so his legs stretched out. Then he reached for the button to lower the bed.

George reached out surprisingly, snatching Ringo's hand.

Ringo turned, surprised, and saw George had managed to open his eyes a fraction. He pulled Ringo's hand to rest with his on the bed and then turned to face the pillow.

"Don't... leave me..." He managed before he fell asleep. Ringo looked away from the sleeping George, anywhere but at his little brother. Anger, hate, venom, it all built up in his chest directing it at himself, at George, at the reporters, the fans, Brian for bringing them this far into this snake pit, at John for even starting a band, at Paul for including George, at the world because, hey, why not?

And also hurt and pain, feelings of betrayal and fear, worry was gnawing at his gut. He was sure he was gonna get sick soon.

George slept next to him, holding tight to his hand like it was a life line.

John found Paul in the gift shop. Wondering what could have driven the bassist here he quickly entered and walked quietly towards Paul.

Paul was staring at the shelves of ciggaretes, eyes glassy but his face dry. His jaw quivered every now and again.

John grabbed his hand and started pulling Paul towards the door, ignoring Paul's pathetic attempts to pull away. He pulled him out of the gift shop, past the nurses desk, and out the hospital doors.

"John! Where are we going?" Paul asked.

John didn't say anything, just kept pulling Paul down the street until they reached a nearbye cafe.

"Sit." He ordered, pushing his friend into a chair. Paul sat, leaning onto the table with his elbow and resting his chin on his fist.

John returned with two large cups of tea. He set one beside Paul and sipped his own.

"Well? Out with it." John said, "What's got you close to tears?"

Paul gave him a dirt look before leaning back in his chair and taking a deep breath, keeping his eyes glued to the hands hanging limply in his lap, "Did I drive George to this?"

"To what?"

"To swallowing those pills?"

"No." John said immeadiatly, "Did you hand him the bottle? Did you intentionally pull away from him?"

"No... But-"

"You didn't drive him to this Paul." John said sternly, "Remember what Mr. Asher told us? His heads gone a little funny, he says stuff he doesn't mean to say. Stuff he wouldn't normally say. He'll apologise when he rights himself, I'm sure of it."

Paul didn't look placated, but he sipped his tea quietly, "It's true though... I just left him... We used to be so close John and now..."

"It happens Paul." John shrugged, "It's just life. And it's not like you two aren't still close. Remember a few weeks ago? You were the first to notice when things started to get really bad for him. Older brothers can't be around all the time but when they are they know what to do."

Paul still looked upset, so John sighed and leaned forward.

"Do not make me go soft in public Macca, I'll have to beat you up afterwards."

Paul offered a weak smile, "I just... I couldn't forgive myself if I was the reason George..."

"Nah it was a number of things. You heard him right? And he would have been lonely even if you were still glued to his side."

"Really?"

John looked slightly uncomfortable, nodding, "Yeah. Lonely is a really hard thing to fend off when it gets it's hooks in you... and really hard to fix."

Paul frowned, resting on his elbows, "Are you lonely John?"

It was John's turn to grin weakly, "Guilty."

"John-"

"It's not that big a deal Macca, just things can get a little hard you know? I'm used to it. I've been dealing with it, and you know what Macca? I'm stronger for it. George will be too, he just hit his low point is all."

"Did you hit your low point John?" Paul asked. John nodded, sipping his tea.

"I was alot younger, it was around the time me mum died. You were there for most of it remember?"

Paul did remember. John had gone from easy going teddy boy to a drunk, callous, bitter young man in mere seconds. He'd been a wreck and most had practically given up on him. Give up or get drunk, that's the choice John Lennon had offered his friends. Paul had gotten drunk... alot. But in the end, Paul had decided it was worth it, John had become his best friend, sitting ontop of the world next to him.

Paul looked at John now, the groups sometimes-unnofficial-leader, his best mate, and smiled.

John gave him a suggestive look with his eyebrows, making Paul's small, sad grin shatter into an amused snort. John continued making faces at Paul who sniggered into his tea, nearly choking.

"That's not very nice you know." He laughed, and John shrugged.

"Who said I was nice? I'm rather mean and cold spirited Macca."

"Sure John." Paul said, standing up, "I'm gonna go get something for Ringo to eat, I doubt the hospital feeds it's visitors. And even if it does I doubt it feeds its visitors well."

John nodded, leaning back in his chair, "Go on then you daft samaritain, be gone with your do-gooder ways."

Paul smiled again, "Thanks Johnny."

"Don't know what you're thanking me for, my whole intention was to make you choke on tea so I could keep all the songwriting credits for myself." John smiled as Paul rolled his eyes and started to walk away, "Oh and you're welcome Paul!"

George woke sometime later, Ringo was still the only visitor in his room. He sat in a chair nearby, eyes closed and in a light sleep. George sat up, feeling slightly sick but pushing past it. He sighed, feeling tired but not sleepy anymore. His head felt stuffy and weird, like he had tissues stuffed around his brain and it was blocking him from thinking properly.

He pressed his fists to his chest, crossing them like a vamprie, pressing hard as if to keep his chest from hurting.

Loneliness surrounded him, it was with him every waking moment, and now that he'd failed in trying to escape it, it was twice as crushing.

George looked around his room, really noticing it for the first time. It only really seemed to press into him now that he was in the hospital, he'd put himself in the hospital trying to make the pain and loneliness go away. He'd have to see everyone's pained and hurt faces. There was no escape from that either he supposed. They'd never look at him the same, they'd probably hate him for what he tried to do. It was akin to murder wasn't it? Killing yourself...

His eyes fell on the small table near his bed, a sheet of paper sat on it. Curious, George picked it up gingerly, wondering what it could be.

It was his suicide note. Or it must have been, as he didn't remember writing it. But it was his handwriting, shaky and there were tear stains that smudged the ink in places, but it was his writing.

_Ritchie, Paul, John, Brian-_

_Please don't be mad... Please don't hate me... I hate myself enough. I don't need anymore hate._

_I don't really know what to say... except I hope you'll still love me when I see you on the otherside... and I promise to watch out for you from up there... but I can't do this anymore, I really can't. It's to much. Please don't blame yourselves, don't hate yourselves either. There's enough hate that you don't need to add to it._

_I'm really scared right now... and also kind of hopefull, maybe now the problems I've been struggling with wont be my problems anymore. I've been in this dark corner for so long I just want to get out, and even though I'm shaking as I think about what I'm gonna do, I'm really sure this is the right way. I hope you guys can understand that._

_I hope for the best._

_-George_

George stared at the paper, blinking.

How could they not hate him? Now that George thought about it, how could he ask them not to hate him after he'd done that. How selfish could he get? How stupid and pigheaded could he get before-

"Joj?"

It was quiet, broken, and deep, the voice that broke through George's thoughts and got him to look up as Ringo watched him through tired blue eyes. His head was still lying back against the chair he was slumped down against, he didn't look to comfortable.

Ringo had woken up to see George reading that horrible letter, tears streaming down his face.

"Joj... it's okay." Ringo said tiredly, sitting up and rubbing his aching neck. He gently tugged the note out of George's hands, throwing it to the floor behind him where it floated under one of the chairs. He leaned over the bed and kissed George's forehead like his mother would when Ringo was distressed, "It's okay joj..." He whispered.

George just stared at him tearfully and Ringo smiled back.

"Do you hate me?" George asked quietly.

"No love." Ringo whispered, hugging him close. George ended up bent slightly back, his chin digging into Ringo's shoulder, "No, I could never hate you."

"But-"

"I hate what you did... I loathe what you did... But I can't hate you." Ringo said firmly, "There's no way I can ever hate you."

George was silent, the only sounds coming from him were laboured breaths as the tears leaked out of his eyes.

"I'm scared..." He whispered, "I don't want to be alone anymore."

"You wont be." Ringo promised, releasing George and wiping both of their tears away, "No matter what you got Paul, you got John, and you got me. Forever." He gripped George's hand.

"Forever." George nodded tearfully, smiling.

Ringo nodded, pulling away for a moment to open the window and then fished the suicide note from under the chair. He turned to George, pulling out his lighter and grabbing the small ash tray. But he didn't pull out his pack of ciggarets, which confused George.

"You don't need this anymore." Ringo smiled, folding the paper longways and taking George's hand, pressing the lighter into his palm and opening it with him. Together they opened it and Ringo lit the flame.

With a final look at George, Ringo gently directed George's hand to press the flame to the paper in Ringo's hand. The moment it was lit Ringo laid it against the ash tray and put the whole thing on the windowsill, where the smoke escaped to the city outside. The smoke containing the remains of the paper so full of pain and self-loathing that just seemed to float away, away from George and his life.

And as he watched, he felt the pain and self-loathing in himself float away too...

* * *

**Thank you to everyone who's enjoyed this and commented. Keep a look out for futre stories!**

**3, Alitote :)**


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